Laurabella was a poet. She wrote a poem every day and posted it. Poems oozed out of her like pus from an infected scab. It oozed not just every day, but often all day every day. The verses would tumble out as fast as she could type. Up on Mt Olympus Polyhymnia remarked to Calliope that, as Laurabella’s Muse, she was absolutely exhausted trying to keep up.
Then suddenly, Laurabella stopped creating poetry. The Muses on Mt Olympus were relieved. At last they could have a rest.
These days it’s recipes. Recipes tumble out of Laurabella’s keyboard like slop in a pig’s trough. She can’t cook for nuts, and she hasn’t tested a single recipe, but her recipes pages have the biggest number of followers this side of the Yangze River.
But… oh! no!… What’s this? Laurabella is now posting her recipes in verse form. Her two creative urges rolled into one! She is becoming the Julia Child of the Poetry Anthologies. The Muses are unamused. They have phoned the three Fates. “And,” shouted Polyhymnia to Atropos, “bring your scissors to cut her thread of life!”
At once! shouted the Nine Muses. At once! shouted the Three Fates.
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